


Ball Control

by chajatta



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Basketball, Alternate Universe - Sports, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chajatta/pseuds/chajatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yifan takes his responsibilities as captain of the basketball team very seriously, to the extent that he brings himself down even when the team wins. Zitao prides himself on being the best at getting him to see sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ball Control

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published 14/10/2013

It’s been well over thirty minutes since the game ended, but Yifan imagines that if he closed his eyes he could still hear the roar of the crowd in his ears, the deafening rumble of shock and disappointment that had threatened to crush him where he’d stood, arms almost frozen above his head as he’d watched the ball soar through the air and bounce agonisingly off the rim of the hoop. 

He could have won them the game. Instead Yifan had been forced to watch the opposing power forward snatch the ball right out of the air as it rebounded back onto court. He’d powered after the other man, but it had been almost like Yifan was on autopilot as he desperately tried to block the pass to the other team’s shooting guard. The red glare of the scoreboard had been all Yifan could see, the timer counting down the final sixty seconds of the fourth quarter, time disappearing before his eyes, and Yifan knew he’d never be able to look the rest of his team mates in the eye if the other team scored now. Not when they’d been so close to victory. 

He’d stood there as the shooting guard tried to pass around the barrier of his body, and Yifan’s heart had almost pounded right through his own ribcage as he’d watched Zitao intercept it by the very tips of his fingers. The entire team had surged forward as one, a synchronised line of attack, and Yifan almost toppled over mid stride when Zitao passed the ball clear over the heads of the other team’s feebly scrambled together defence and right into the waiting hands of Zhou Mi. Zhou Mi who was in acres of space, Zhou Mi who hadn’t even hesitated before lining his body up for the shot, the ball leaving his hands and curving up into an arc before landing in the hoop as the timer rolled down into the last ten seconds.

Everything after that had been kind of a blur. Yifan remembers seeing Zitao’s laughing face as he’d thrown himself at Zhou Mi, momentum almost knocking the older man to the floor. But mostly, he’d just felt an intense rush of relief, relief that his own stupid blunder hadn’t cost his team a victory they all deserved so much. 

They’d all trundled off court later, after commiserating handshakes with the other team and a chorus of congratulations from their coach, but Yifan had found it impossible to join in the celebrations. He’d lead the way into the locker rooms and as he’d thrown himself down onto the bench, that relief had mostly been eaten away by guilt. 

Yifan steeples one of the practice balls between his fingers and glares down at it, the knowledge that he should never have put his team in such a precarious position in the first place rolling uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach.

He’s so lost in his own murky thoughts that Yifan almost misses Zitao sliding onto the bench beside him. He doesn’t miss the way Zitao snorts when Yifan doesn’t acknowledge him, still staring angrily down at the basketball in his hands as though it could somehow give Yifan the answers he needed. 

“Will you stop feeling so sorry for yourself?” Zitao says, completely unsympathetic as he takes the basketball from between Yifan’s hands and places it on the bench beside them. “We still won, didn’t we?”

Yifan sighs and reaches up to rip his hair band off. “I can make jump shots like that in my sleep, Zitao. There’s absolutely no excuse for not capitalising on such an easy chance.” He twists the thick strip of cotton between his fingers and then flicks it away, watching as it crumples to the floor. 

“We all make mistakes, don’t we? This is a team game, Yifan, we cover for each other. That’s our job.” 

Yifan shakes his head and Zitao snorts again. He reaches up to flick playfully at Yifan’s ponytail and then tugs it out of its elastic. It’s something of a joke amongst the team, that ponytail, the way Zitao approaches their captain before every game with hair grips in hand and carefully scrapes Yifan’s hair up. It’s become a ritual of sorts, though, and the entire team refuses to leave the dressing room until Yifan’s flyaways are clipped into place. 

Zitao smiles knowingly as he digs the grips from Yifan’s hair and then smoothes it out, scratching his blunt fingernails into Yifan’s scalp and tousling until his blond hair falls messily around his face. 

“You inspire us all, you know?” Zitao stars. He hooks the hair grips over the neck of his own jersey and then he leans forward to press a tiny, fleeting kiss to the strong line of Yifan’s jaw. Yifan opens his mouth to speak but Zitao shushes him with another little kiss before he’s getting to his knees and wriggling his way between Yifan’s legs. He smiles a little smugly when Yifan’s hands come up to cup his cheeks. “Even when you’re not playing at your best, you’re still better than the rest of us. We all look to you as our leader so I don’t know why you insist on beating yourself up like this.”

“That’s just it, though-“ Yifan starts, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Zitao’s sharp cheekbones, “I know I can do better and if I don’t perform well that has an impact on all of you.” His breath catches when Zitao smoothes his hands up Yifan’s legs and then over the firm muscles of his thighs. “I shouldn’t be allowed to get away with shit performances just because I’m captain when the rest of you have to work so hard,” Yifan finishes shakily as Zitao’s hands disappear under his baggy shorts. 

Zitao rolls his eyes impatiently and hooks Yifan’s shorts around his wrists, tugging them down to his knees in one smooth, practised movement. 

“You’re allowed to have shit days, okay? It’s fine. We know you’re human, too,” He starts, untucking his hands from the confines of Yifan’s shorts and tugging at the waistband of his underwear. He takes hold of Yifan’s cock and Zitao can never quite help the almost childish grin that spreads over his mouth when he gets Yifan in hand like this. He’s so responsive as Zitao teases him to hardness, gasping when Zitao twists his wrist and swipes his palm over the head just like he knows Yifan loves. He’s just so _big_ and there’s nothing that Zitao wants more than to take the long, hard length of Yifan’s cock into his mouth, to work at him with his tongue until there’s no space for anything in Yifan’s head but Zitao’s name and how fucking good he makes Yifan feel.

“Besides, captain,” Zitao murmurs, dipping his head forward so that his lips brush over the pink head of Yifan’s cock, “you know that you can always score with me.”

Yifan laughs, but it catches in his throat and comes out strangled when Zitao sinks his mouth down over his cock. The rest of their team mates have already cleared out, which just means that Zitao can be as loud as he likes, and he moans happily at the heavy weight of Yifan’s cock on his tongue. He swallows and then sinks down further, slurping messily as he slides Yifan’s cock as deep into his mouth as he can get it, curling his fingers around what he can’t take. That’s always been a sore spot for Zitao, a deep disappointment that curls in his belly when the head of Yifan’s cock hits the back of his throat and he has to stop to prevent himself from gagging, but Yifan has never complained and he isn’t complaining now, not when Zitao teases his fingers over the base in time with his bobbing head. 

Zitao groans and he feels Yifan’s entire body shudder at the way it sends vibrations down his cock and right into the depths of his stomach. He glances up with dark eyes and Yifan tips his head back, banging his skull against the locker door as though he can’t bear to meet the weight of Zitao’s gaze.

“Don’t- don’t look at me like that. Oh my god, oh my- _Zitao._ ” One of Yifan’s hands is grasping helplessly as his side and it sweeps out when Zitao just sucks harder, knocking the spare practice balls off the bench. They bounce onto the floor and across the locker room, but Zitao pays them no heed as he curls his tongue around Yifan’s cock. Zitao’s mouth is stretched wide and red, and the sound of his pleasured moans and the hot, wet noise his cock makes when it hits the back of Zitao’s throat is going to be on repeat in Yifan’s head for hours. 

Yifan’s twitching under his mouth, now, and that familiar musky taste blossoms over Zitao’s tongue just as Yifan grabs roughly at his hair. He pushes up into Zitao’s mouth, calling out his name desperately, and then he’s coming, spilling down Zitao’s throat and filling his mouth. He pulls out quickly and watches almost dazedly as come leaks from the sides of Zitao’s mouth and down his chin. 

Zitao grins all lazy and pleased, sweeping his tongue over his lips to clean himself up. Yifan uncurls his hands, fingers sweeping through Zitao’s hair to rearrange the strays, and then he’s sagging back against the lockers as Zitao tucks him back into his underwear and tugs Yifan’s shorts back up his legs. 

“We should- we should probably clean up,” Yifan says eventually, when Zitao’s back on his feet and brushing imaginary dust from his knees. 

“Honestly,” Zitao clicks his tongue, “I give you an incredible blowjob to try and cheer you up and all you can worry about is a messy locker room?” Yifan smiles sheepishly at him and that’s all Zitao had wanted to see, really, would do anything for Yifan if it meant he could have that stupid, gummy grin rather than that entirely unproductive self-flagellation. 

He takes hold of one of Yifan’s hands, smiles when he squeezes it weakly, and then he’s tugging Yifan to his feet, which in and of itself is no mean feat, especially when Yifan’s much heavier body is limp and heavy with orgasm.

“Come on. Take me back to yours. We’ll get some pizza and a few beers in, and then I’ll show you how much I really appreciate you, _captain._ ”

Zitao’s grin is completely shit eating and, Yifan thinks as he allows himself to be tugged from the room without even changing out of his sweaty kit, he isn’t going to argue with that.


End file.
